The Crawling Shadows
by SOthisIStheHOBBIT
Summary: Thorin and Company have no choice but to enter Mirkwood, or they will never reach Lonely Mountain in time. What they don't know is that the forest is very much alive, almost sentient... and its hungry for new victims. In hindsight, Bilbo should have known better than to step hairy foot in Mirkwood. (BAGGINSHEILD, NORI/DWALIN)
1. Chapter 1

**The Crawling Shadows **

"This forest feels... _sick._ As if a disease lies upon it."

In hindsight, Bilbo should have known better than to step hairy foot in Mirkwood. The whole forest hummed with something... unnatural, it wasn't even that the trees themselves were twisted into painful looking shapes, and the bark seemed to flake from the trunks like dead skin, it was just a feeling that the hobbit got when he approached the Elven Gate.

"Is there no way around it?"

Gandalf confirmed his fears, no, there was no way around. Unless they wanted to go 200 miles north or twice that distance south.

That wasn't an option, Durin's day was close, and if the company wanted to find the way into the Lonely mountain, then they needed to be there when the light hit the keyhole.

They'd all struggled too hard to miss it. Thorin had waited too long, and Bilbo knew that to deny him that would be the worst thing anyone or anything could possibly do.

But the situation became twice as grim when their wizard announced he was leaving them Gandalf did have a nasty habit of disappearing whenever the fancy took him. Although this time around, he stayed at least to say goodbye, but he didn't say where he was going and when he would be back.

Bilbo couldn't help but feel a bit betrayed, and Thorin certainty didn't try to hide his disapproval.

The look on the old man's was grave indeed. "I would not do this unless I had to."

The hobbit couldn't possibly know what was going on in the wizard's mind, but that look assured him that, whatever he was going to do, it was of great importance. Before he saddled his horse, he gave the hobbit a long glance and declared that the journey had changed him, and Bilbo didn't disagree.

He very nearly told Gandalf about... the ring he'd taken, no _found _in the goblin tunnels.

The hobbit knew little about black magic, but he had seen enough evil on this trip to be able to spot it when it reared its ugly head. This ring... it smacked of something not right, and the sensible Baggins had been kicking up a fuss about it ever since the ring came into his possession.

_Gandalf needs to know about this!_

But, of course, his Took side begged to differ.

_**Why? Its nobody's business but ours. **_

_That's just it! The ring isn't ours! We stole it-_

_**So? did it REALLY belong to Gollum? What was a creature like that doing with an enchanted ring anyway? He probably stole it first-**_

_It doesn't matter! It's got evil in it! And Gandalf knows about these things-_

_**Yes... but what harm can it do to hold on to it for a LITTLE bit longer? Besides, looking at this forest, we might well need it in the near future. **_

Bilbo changed his mind at the last second about telling the wizard about the ring, and watched him ride away into the distance, grey robes flying in the wind.

Thorin pressed for everyone to move forward, anxious to reach the door. And Bilbo didn't disagree, the sooner they went in, the sooner they would be out and that much closer to the mountain.

_**And the dragon. **_

Smaug the Terrible hadn't plagued Bilbo as much as you would expect, there was more than enough happening on the journey to occupy his thoughts, so he supposed it hadn't actually sunk in that he would be sneaking into a dragon's den.

The word _incineration _came to mind, and the hobbit felt his fingers and toes became numb.

Speak of the devil, Bofur came to walk beside the hobbit and bumped his shoulder with his own.

"You alright then, Lad?" he asked good naturedly.

Bilbo didn't really know how to respond to that, he didn't want to dismiss Bofur's good intentions with a moody 'no', but didn't feel like faking a smile and saying 'yes' either.

In the end he compromised and shrugged his shoulders indifferently, "As well a be expected."

The dwarf's lip quirked. "Aye. Same here." he looked about him. "I tell ye, this place gives me the willies, and we're not even all the way in yet."

The hobbit looked behind him at the disappearing elf gate with a sinking feeling, that was there only escape route, and it was fading from view.

He sighed and walked forward and continued to chat idly with Bofur. He was grateful for the friendship they had, even if he dwarf could be a little... too enthusiastic when describing scenes of mass slaughter at Moira and the overwhelming destruction of Smaug's wrath.

Bilbo knew he wasn't doing it _deliberately,_ but now he knew better than to ask for a story from Bofur.

Thorin, on the other hand, told fantastic stories, when he was in the mood for sharing that is.

The dwarf hadn't been... especially _grumpy_ as of late. But he had been more distant.

It made sense, the king obviously had much to contemplate.

_**But we still don't like it**_

_Oh hush _

He walked, as usual, at the front of his company, his furry coat moving in rhythm with his broad, muscular shoulders. Occasionally, he would look back to his companions then carry on forward.

Bilbo caught his eye, once, but nothing came of it.

Maybe that was for the best.

–-

The forest was making Thorin nervous.

And that fact alone did not bode well.

The king did not get nervous, or anxious, or unsure.

None of the above were applicable in normal circumstances.

Thorin did feel apprehension, and he might feel reserve about a situation, but he didn't allow his emotions to cloud his judgement. As a leader, he had to be disciplined.

His dwarves needed to see that he was in control, simply for their reassurance if nothing else. Seeing someone you look up to go to pieces was not a pleasant sight to behold... and Thorin had first hand experience in such things.

Still, he couldn't deny that this place was disquieting.

Thorin wondered how his company were fairing, and he felt regret that in order for them to reach Erabor he had to drag them into this ill wood.

But it couldn't be helped, and Thorin tried to put all of his energy into keeping on the path. It was tricky, for a few scary moments, it seemed to vanish under his feet, completely concealed by fallen leaves. Then, the little light that shone through the canopy would shine off the dull stone and he would let out a private breath of relief.

There were also elves to worry about. Not just any elves either, these were _his_ elves.

_Thranduil. _

Thorin was not fond of the term 'tree-shagger', it wasn't a particularly clever insult, and was far too childish for him to use.

So he created his own: Pointed eared bastard, Son of an Orc, Tree-humping pervert.

Alright. So maybe he wasn't quite above insinuating that elves copulated with trees. But honestly, in the dark, could you really tell the difference?

Thorin prayed to Mahal that he didn't lay eyes on that traitorous elf, for he was not sure that he could stop himself from wrapping his hands around Thranduil's throat and throttling him. But that would nothing compared to the pain his people felt.

But it would be satisfying.

It didn't help his mood that the Wizard had, once again, abandoned them for an apparent greater cause elsewhere.

Although Thorin found Gandalf to be trying at times, especially with his quietly smug attitude and his refusal to say anything without making it sound as if he was giving out eternal pearls of wisdom. Still, he proved to be a very useful ally, and Thorin was willing to put up with the eccentric old fellow if it meant they had magical protection.

Of course, that very protection was now riding away to an unknown location. Leaving Thorin and his companions at the mercy of whatever lurked in this dismal wood.

The king could not deny that their Hobbit-burglar had spoken true when he said the forest felt sick.

Speaking of which.

Despite his better judgement, he took a moment just to glance over his shoulder as casually as he could, to check on his companions, and his gaze also fell upon the furry footed creature.

He was, as usual, at the back of the group, chatting to the toy maker with an easy half smile on his soft features, despite the unpleasant surroundings.

That... displeased Thorin. For some reason, whatever the reason, he didn't like the fact that Bofur could make Master Baggins smile so easily.

The stern, serious part of him reasoned that it was because there was no place for such foolhardiness now, this was no sunny mountain road, this was Mirkwood, crawling with elves and any manner of horrid things.

But the quieter, largely untouched (for Thorin was afraid to venture there) softer part of him suggested that wasn't the case. And instead, he felt the way he did because _he_ should be the one making the hobbit-burglar smile.

The king huffed, it was a ridiculous notion.

In any case, the recovery of his people's lost homeland was his top priority and it did not do to get distracted by wants the flesh. Even if it had been many, many years since he felt anything close to what he felt about Master Baggins at this moment.

His feelings were not as simple as lust, the kind brought upon by months without sharing bed-joys with someone. Thorin knew what he was feeling was more complex, although, that wasn't to say that _lust_ didn't play any part in it.

When he first saw Bilbo Baggins, with his golden brown curled hair, and bright, unsure eyes that reminded Thorin of a forest after a soft rain fall, he had felt a hungry stirring within himself that was not certainly not proper.

Maybe if he'd been the first of the dwarves to arrive at the little hobbit hole... perhaps events might have gone a different way.

He met Bilbo's eyes, just a for the most fleeting of moments, and gave what he thought was a reassuring smile. But the hobbit looked away as soon as their glances had met, so he may well have missed it.

Well.

No time to dwindle on that now, Thorin had to concentrate on keeping_ all _of his friends safe, if they lost the path, they were as good as dead.

And none of them would ever see the lonely Mountain again.


	2. Chapter 2 (fixed! sorry about that )

The company padded along the path, and Bilbo would be lying if he said he wasn't dragging his furry feet.

Mirkwood was the very last place in the whole of Arda that he wanted to be. He'd rather pay Goblin Town another visit than continue to walk deeper, and deeper in the forest. At least _there_ you could see.

As the hours past, and the sun began to fall from the sky, it had begun to get darker. Gradually at first, like a hesitant shadow, but then it suddenly struck the hobbit that he could not his hand as he waved it right in front of his nose.

Night had come at last, and he was dreading it.

Thorin reluctantly called for everyone to stop and make camp, for there was little point in marching in the darkness. And he would not risk them losing the path.

Everyone seemed to be a mixture of relived and apprehensive, as this was a very strange place indeed they had come to, and they wondered whether it would be a good idea to shut their eyes for a single moment.

Kili and Fili were the least sombre out of the group, as the good, the bad and the ugly seemed to bounce right off the two princes. Especially the youngest of the two. Kili even made an effort to cheer up the company but trying to catch some very suspicious looking black squirrels for supper.

Bilbo was happy for him, and encouraged him, but he didn't fancy nibbling on any of those nasty looking creatures, despite his hunger. Fortunately, supplies were plentiful, so no one was forced to eat Kili's catch.

Except Fili, who saw it as his duty as an older brother to support Kil and said that he would gladly eat a squirrel. But in the end, the archer admitted that he didn't mind either way and they ended up having a broth instead.

Bilbo tucked in.

Bombur was quite the cook, and, when they had a moment alone, he hoped that the dwarf would share a few of his recipes. But, knowing the hobbit's luck, the red haired dwarf would probably say that his cooking techniques were 'a sacred dwarfish tradition' so he couldn't possibly give them to Bilbo; who was as far away from a dwarf as the ground was from the sky.

Not that it bothered him, well, at least not as much as it _used _to.

He was a hobbit, and the company were dwarves, and they had their own ways of doing things. That was just _fine._

_**But it wouldn't hurt**__**to be let in once in a while, they won't even teach us their precious language. **_

_Its sacred._

_**My foot it is! They just think we're incapable of learning it! **_

_That's not true at all!_

Bilbo grumbled quietly as he fiddled with his belongs. He'd have to use his pack as a pillow, which would be rather uncomfortable and he missed the soft bed of hey back at the skin-changers house. Even if he did wake up one morning with a sheep licking his face.

He wanted to eat his apples that he had sneaked away from Beaorn's, but the others would hear him crunching, then the two princes would be all over him asking him to share.

Bilbo wasn't a selfish sort of creature, he just wanted to enjoy his late night snack in peace.

As the others were settling down for the night, he managed to quietly creep away, prepared with the excuse that he was going to relieve himself, if he was asked. Thankfully he wasn't.

He still kept his friends in sight, as he knew it would be very, very stupid to wonder too far. The woods might very well gobble him up, or whatever unseen beasts that were lying in wait.

The hobbit stumbled across a large, old tree, not much different from the trees all around him, but the roots of this particular tree proved to be just what Bilbo was looking for. They were large and winding, shooting upwards from the ground and back down into the soil like giant worms.

The hobbit sheltered in a little nook underneath the humongous roots and, satisfied that he was alone, began to feint on his juicy apples.

And they _were _juicy, as they had not softened from the day that Bilbo had picked them. The skin broke with a satisfying crunch, and the sweet taste filled the hobbit's mouth and for a moment he almost forgot that he was crouching in a dark corner of Mrikwood far away from his warm hobbit home, and kettle and books...

Suddenly, something stirred nearby.

It was only a quiet shuffling, as if an animal was tentatively making its way through the leaf litter, but still, it meant he wasn't alone.

Bilbo's small body tensed, and he realized with horror that he had left his short sword back at the camp, so if the thing wasn't friendly he had nothing to defend himself with.

Than it came to him.

He had the ring! Of course, that meant he didn't need to fight, he could just slip it on and make a run for it.

The hobbit dropped the apple in his hand and it rolled away, then he reached into his waistcoat pocket and felt the cool touch of gold against his fingers.

The thing was near, and Bilbo could hear heavy footsteps mere feet away, the hobbit's chest was falling and rising frantically with panicked breathing and his heart pounded in his ribcage.

He cursed, and huddled even deeper into his hiding place, not making any noise, and prayed that whatever it was would lose interest and go back from whence it came.

_This is what you get for being greedy! _His Baggins side chastised. _Now we're going to be eaten ourselves!_

He fiddled anxiously for the ring, the thing was close, so close, it was right above his head and-

Bilbo let out a startled cry.

"_Burglar?"_

–-

Thorin liked to seek solitude.

He was not the most social of dwarves, and he found small talk to be a complete waste of words. Although he was very well schooled in the art of _mingling_, as part of his education as prince, he had to learn Khuzd social etiquette.

Someone of his station cannot simply sulk in a dark corner during social events, no matter how much he hated being paraded around by his grandfather, or the condescending attentions of gentry, he simply had to smile, nod, and say all the correct things.

At least now he didn't have to bother with all that. But, in a strange, way, he _missed_ it.

But then again, he missed everything about Erabor. It was his home, where he should be, and not feeling his way through this cursed forest like a mole in a tunnel.

But alas, there was nothing that could be done. The wizard had made that clear.

The nightfall brought a whole new host of problems, the biggest one was the question of setting up camp. Thorin was desperate to get to the mountain in time, and, if need be, he would have walked on in the dark.

But he had his company to think about, and they needed rest and food. Dwarves were a hardly lot but they needed to eat, and sleep, as most creatures do.

They chose a spot right in the middle of the path, so when they awoke, they would not have to look far for it.

Bombar and Bifur set about getting a fir for the meal ready, and the others began to set down their packs and make themselves as comfortable as possible. But... to be honest, everyone was on edge in this wood.

Thorin would have bet money of the likelihood of a poor night's sleep all round.

The king himself was not tired, he was antsy, and frustrated.

He occupied his time by cleaning the Orcrist, which helped but only slightly, and watched as Kili managed to shoot down some black vermin from the trees. That dwarf was so easily amused.

Eventually, after they had all eaten their fill, and talked softly amongst themselves while the fire died, Thorin found his need to be alone with his thoughts setting in. He excused himself, with a wry look from Dwalin, and exited through the trees.

He did not go far, for the visibility was poor, so he ended up leaning on an old tree with huge roots, and felt in his coat pocket for his pipe. He was suddenly gasping for a smoke. But as he placed it between his lips and prepared to light it, he heard a noise.

A soft thud, as if someone had dropped something onto the forest floor. Of course, it could have been a falling fruit, but from what he could see the trees only bore leaves.

Thorin clenched his teeth around his pipe, and left his fingers drift over the Orcrist on his belt. He quickly looked all about, but it was just too dark to see very far.

He tilted his head to try and pick up any more unusual sounds, and maybe where they were coming from.

Worryingly, the noises sounded very close, and as back backed up against the tree, he could have sworn that who or what was snuffling about was right next to him.

Then, quiet as you like, came a soft exclamation of "oh blast it"

Thorin knew that voice.

He looked right of him, then left, and finally and climbed onto one of the huge tree roots and called "Burglar?"

There was a shrill cry from under him, and Thorin nearly fell from his perch. He looked down and there was the hobbit-burglar, crouched among the roots, wide eyed and shaking a little.

He let out a breath of relief. "In Mahal's name, hobbit!"

"T-Thorin? Is that you? Please say its you." asked Master Baggins, still looking rather frightened.

"Does my voice not give it away?" drawled Thorin, he reached out to help the hobbit-burglar climb up and out of his hiding spot. "Come. You have nothing to fear."

Master Baggins let out a shaky laugh as he took Thorin's hand, the dwarf felt warmth spread from his fingers and up his arm and he noted that the halfling's fingers were delicate compared to his own stubby digits.

"What a pair of fools we are!" chuckled Master Baggins, shaking his head. "Scaring each other like that."

He released the king's hand, and a private part of the dwarf was sorry for the loss.

Thorin frowned. "And just what _were_ you doing, Master Baggins, hiding under a tree?"

He did not like the thought of the hobbit-burglar wondering away into Mirkwood by himself, a little creature like that could be easy pickings for a nasty predator.

The hobbit suddenly became flustered. "O-Oh! Well, I was, umm, I err- needed a moment, you know, to myself... um, you know."

The king raised an amused eyebrow. "Do I?"

Master Baggins blinked, then flushed. "I-I wasn't doing anything inappropriate, it that's what your thinking! Nothing of that sort! Nope."

Thorin's mouth twitched with mirth as he watched the ridiculous creature work himself up again, they were familiar enough so there could be a bit of teasing between them. But he never meant Master Baggins any real harm, a stark contrast from only a few months before.

The hobbit-burglar saw the look on Thorin's face and glared. "You're making fun of me aren't you?"

"Not at all, Master Baggins." replied the king, with a face of utmost seriousness. Or rather as close to one as he could get.

Master Baggins did not seem convinced, and crossed his arms over his chest. "And, what might I ask, are you doing out here, _Sire?_"

The sarcastic little gremlin. Thorin had half a mind to cuff the cheeky halfling over the head for that comment, but he was enjoying their banter as they had not talked for some time, so he shambled down from the root on which they had been standing and said with as much dignity as possible:

"I wanted a smoke, if you must know."

Master Baggins followed suit, climbing down from the root. He wrinkled his nose. "It _that_ what you dwarves call it? How peculiar."

It was Thorin's turn to flush, his neck and ears grew warm, and he sent a warning scowl in the hobbit-burglar's direction. "You forget yourself, Halfling."

Master-Baggins' smirk half dropped from his features, and the king felt a pang of regret. He always preferred the hobbit-burglar's grin to this worried, tight expression.

"Apologies." said the halfling, holding up his hands. He clicked his tongue. "Shall we... walk back."

Thorin let his face soften, and he gave the hobbit-burglar a nod. "After you, Master Baggins"

The hobbit-burglar H'mmed, then plodded away towards the camp with that strange, lolloping gait that he had.

It remind Thorin of a rabbit hopping through grass.


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo slept lightly.

The scuttling and scratching of tiny clawed feet on branches and the sheer, impenetrable darkness kept him from falling into a deep slumber. He was amazed how any one managed to get any sleep, but the low snoring of his companions did prove to be a comfort in the long night. Even though he couldn't see them, he knew they were there.

That was something at least.

Normally, he would rise when the fist steaks of sunlight passed through his curtains at Bag End, but now, hardly any sun reached the forest floor so he had to gently shaken out of his sleep by Bofur. Who had seemed to make it his business to rouse the hobbit each morning, so that he didn't get an impatient kick in the backside by Dwalin, or Thorin.

"G'morning Master Hobbit." said Bofur, in a half whisper.

"Is it?" Bilbo question dryly.

Bofur considered this. "Well, not really. But at least it's not pitch black anymore, up you get laddie, before my brother eats your share of breakfast."

_That_ got Bilbo moving, breakfast was the most important meal of the day, as well as second breakfast... the hobbit remembered all eight of his meals with fondness. And yet, it seemed foreign to him, almost greedy, to eat so much when he thought of what the dwarves had been through.

Thorin had toiled for years just to keep his family fed, and dealing with the crushing loss of his father and grandfather, while in the meanwhile Bilbo and other hobbits like him were simply a spoiled, comfortable life. It made him feel slightly ashamed, and at least now he understood Thorin's initial hostility towards him.

Breakfast was a rushed affair, as no one really cared to stay where they were, and the sooner they were moving the better, as the little daylight was precious.

Bilbo did feel a bit light-headed as he gathered up his things, he assumed it was just lingering tiredness from the lack of sleep he'd been getting recently. He winced, and rubbed his temple, still, mustn't grumble.

Bilbo's dread grew with each passing, hour minute and second as they moved on. For now he knew that it was too late to turn back, the only thing they could do was stay on the path. But Bilbo could see it becoming more, and more overgrown and the chances of losing it grew also.

He had good eyes, but they did not serve him well in the constant dim light, and then the dizziness returned. It suddenly occurred to Bilbo that he didn't feel like himself, his head buzzed and there was an uncomfortable pressure behind his eyeballs.

He thought it might be dehydration, so he took small sips from his water skin, careful not to waste it, as Beorn had warned them against drinking any of Mirkwood's water. It had rather unsavoury effects on you. Made you see things that weren't really there.

Bilbo drank, but it helped little, still he kept pace with the others, tense lines in his face being the only indication that he was in any pain.

Then the hobbit found that the trees were wobbling from side to side.

It was in fact, himself, struggling to stay upright as his balance left him. His head was pounding now and his stomach lurched, he tasted bile in the back of his throat. This would not do, he'd already fainted in front of the company, he_ really _didn't want them to see him being sick.

"Mister Boggins!" Kili rushed over to where Bilbo had stumbled, everyone came to a halt and there seemed to be ten pairs of hands helping him up. The hobbit was grateful, but a strange thing happened, the dizziness was gone as soon as it had arrived. It was almost as if he had imagined it, but surly not. Bilbo really hoped not.

The last thing he needed was to lose him mind.

"What's the matter?" demanded Thorin, pushing his way towards the hobbit. "Are you ill?"

"No-no.." Bilbo reassured. "Just a bit dizzy, that's all, I feel fine now.."

Thorin narrowed his icy eyes and studied the hobbit, he didn't seem convinced. "We cannot afford for any delays, Halfing."

Bilbo bristled. "Well, I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you, and I am not _half _of anything."

Thorin kept a carefully crafted look of stony neutrality, if he was worried, Bilbo doubted that he would let the company see. "I did not mean to cause offence to you, Master Baggins, however, I suggest that if you are unwell then you let Oin see to you. And be quick about it." He looked upwards at the canopy. "We are losing the daylight as it is."

Bilbo sighed. "I am quite alright."

"It wasn't a suggestion, hobbit." rumbled Thorin, giving Bilbo his Do-Not-Make-Me-Ask-Twice look.

If the hobbit had been on full form he would have protested, but as it was he accepted defeat and slunk off to the front of the line of dwarves where Oin was waiting for him.

"Master Hobbit." the healer greeted.

"Oin." Bilbo replied. "I feel fine, honestly, I don't know what Thorin's so huffy about."

"Let me be the judge of that, eh?" Oin smiled, taking a gentle hold of Bilbo'd head and looking into his eyes.

"Its this forest! Oh Mahal, we're going to start dropping like flies!" Dori sounded mildly hysterical, and he clutched Ori close to him.

Bilbo groaned, and it wasn't from any headache.

–-

Thorin would never admit to his protective streak.

It left him vulnerable, admitting to care about something, or worse, someone, as it seemed that fate was determined to take away all the good in his life.

Besides, what a king needed was aloof, solemn majesty.

That's the way his father went about things, and it would have served him well if he'd ever gotten to be crowned.

So, like father like son. But secretly Thorin preyed to Mahal that a cold exterior was all he inherited. He wasn't his grandfather, or father, so he hoped history would not repeat itself. For he knew his family might not survive the devastation of the Gold Sickness the third time around.

He woke at sunrise, at least he thought it was sunrise, as time was very difficult to tell in Mirkwood.

The forest seemed to exist in a kind of grey limbo, you didn't know whether it was early morning or afternoon, and the blackness of night would come on so suddenly that it caught you by surprise.

The company seemed in quiet spirits, and Thorin couldn't fault them for it. This wood had a way of making you feel very small indeed, like a mouse hurrying along the ground, trying not to be picked off or stepped on.

It was the air. It contained something oppressive, something sinister that Thorin couldn't see, and he had felt fear tickle him whenever he drew breath.

Then the hobbit-burglar fainted.

Kili let out a cry from the back of their formation and The king spun around to see him holding up the small creature, who looked dazed.

That protective streak in him took over his body and despite himself he rushed over to Master Baggins' side. His company were gathered around the hobbit, eyes full of concern, and in the case of Dwalin, slight irritation.

Thorin asked what the matter was, and the hobbit, as expected, tried to wave him off. Recently he'd picked up a worrying habit of hiding his hurts, and not telling anyone if he was feeling ill. It was incredibly foolish, and dangerous.

They'd brought Oin along for a reason, so why not make use of his healing abilities?

Curse the stubbornness of hobbits.

This time, Master Baggins didn't put up the fuss he normally did, and let Oin see to him. But instead of reassuring the king, it had the opposite effect.

If the Hobbit-burlgar didn't have it in him to fight Thorin on this, then something _must_ be wrong.

Thorin was a dwarf who tended to think the worst, because, usually, that's what ended up happening. He saw optimism the same way as a deer sees a hunter's trap, nothing good.

Still, he had to keep his worry in check, and not let his company see his distress. They might get... _ideas_ about the hobbit and himself, not that anything _was_ happening.

But that wasn't because Thorin didn't _wan_t there to be anything between them, it was just not the right time.

Maybe when they reclaimed Erabor... he could get the hobbit-burglar on his own, just for a little while...

He went over to Oin and Master Baggins, keeping enough distance between them so it didn't look like he was hovering like a worried mother, but close enough so that he could watch what the healer was doing and hear what he was saying.

"Any other symptoms Master Hobbit?" asked Oin, peering into the small creature's face.

"None at all." Answered the hobbit-burglar, sounding bored. "Like I said, I am really, really_ fine."_

Oin ignored him, and carried on with his examination, then Thorin suddenly realized that the older dwarf had his hands on Master Baggins, he was touching him... a _lot_.

Well, of course he was, being a healer required touching. So what Thorin was feeling was entirely irrational.

His hand gave an involuntary twitch when Oin gently felt the hobbit-burglar's neck, probably to see if he had swollen lymph glands... but _still._

If the king was honest, he wasn't quite sure he could define his feelings at this moment; jealousy seemed too childish and simple. Close, and yet so far.

The examination seemed to take twice as long as Thorin would have liked, but finally Oin let the hobbit go with a nod and a small smile.

At which Master Baggins threw his hands up in the air and declared loudly for all the company to hear "I _told _you I was fine! Honestly! Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!" then, grumbling, he trotted off back to the congregation of dwarrows.

Thorin watched him go, then quietly said to Oin "Everything as it should be?"

Oin clicked his tongue and took Thorin's shoulder, gently directing him to a corner where they could talk out of earshot of the company.

"Oin?" Thorin questioned, feeling that bad news was on the horizon. "Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly." Oin confessed. "I couldn't find anything obviously wrong with our hobbit, but you were right to be concerned. I think the dizzy spell was caused by a reaction to the Mirkwood air. Who knows what nasties we're breathing in."

Thorin considered this. "Hmm. I was afraid of that. But why is he the only one affected then?"

Oin frowned in thought. "I wouldn't go around and say that hobbits are delicate folk, we've been proved wrong on that front many times on this venture... but, Master Baggins might not have the..err, strength of chest as dwarrows do."

The king crossed his arms. "So, what are saying?"

The healer stroked his beard. "I'm saying that while the hobbit might be the first, he won't be the last. Bofur told me he was feeling a bit strange earlier on, so it won't be long before we're all tumbling about with bad heads."

This was the bad news Thorin had been waiting for, if Oin was right, then the implications of this could be disastrous.

"Is there anything to be done?" Thorin asked.

Oin shook his head. "I don't reckon so Laddie, we can't help the air we breathe... but I wouldn't want to linger here any longer than we have to."

Thorin didn't miss the healer's meaning, and immediately jumped into action.

"We're moving on!" he called. "And we need to pick up the pace, we only have small amount of time to find the hidden door!"

"Aye!" someone called, and forward the company went.

Deeper and deeper into the deep dark wood.


End file.
